Sex, Junk, and Shooting Up
by ElfGirl4
Summary: Draco comes home for the summer after another rather uneventful year at Hogwarts. His home-life is deeply unsatisfying, which changes when he resorts to a different kind of comfort... RR! Love ya guys!


I don't own any of these characters… they are not mine. I do not own them. THERE.

His blonde locks hung loosely in front of his silver-grey orbs. A gentle breeze passed, sweeping his brilliantine hair out of his eyes and for a brief moment, letting the sun shine into his eyes. The Slytherin boy narrowed his eyes as the rays of light hit them. Flitting his orbs about he scanned the platform. He quickly found his father standing beside a nearby archway, his hand resting fashionably upon his cane.

His father stood tall and proud, looking down upon the passersby, inwardly disgusted with their miserable existence on the earth. Lucius was clad in a tailored black suit, made to fit perfectly. His shoes shined when the smallest beam of light hit their polished surface – the hard work of a house-elf. His white-blond hair cascaded down his shoulders, seemingly glowing in the evening sun. His countenance was pinched and self-important; an eyebrow raised the utter squalor of the beings surrounding him. In his hand was cradled the top of a dark, ebony cane. It was topped with the gleaming, silver head of a serpent, its fangs bared in malice. Carved into the wood were snakes of all types, mingling and crossing along the surface. Lucius' cold eyes found his son immediately, though he chose not to disgrace himself by being one of those doting parents that cried out their child's name the second they saw the little brat.

Draco's breathing became shallow and he cast his eyes down for a moment, composing himself. He looked up quickly and an air of haughtiness surrounded his lithe frame. He was an actor, playing the part of a popular, arrogant, supercilious heir to a very distinguished and feared bloodline. He walked straight towards his father, stepping off of the train and onto the platform with grace. He held his head high, his visage hinting at a look he always had on his face; he had everything, yet hated all he had, treating it like it wasn't worth the dirt beneath his shoes.

He stopped a few feet before his father, his shoulders thrown back, impeccable posture. He tried to look at his father's eyes, but failed, never managing to meet the frozen gaze. Instead, he aimed for a crumb on the platform, no doubt the leavings of some careless and dirty little child.

"Hello, Draco," his veins turned to ice as his father stated his greetings in an aloof manner.

"Hello, father," was Draco's perfunctory response, murmured from a bowed head. His voice was subdued, not at all like he was around his mates – conceited, loud, and showy.

Without another word, his father turned on his heel and walked briskly towards the jet-black car that was waiting for them at the edge of the station. Draco followed after Lucius, keeping a safe distance behind his father's flapping coattails.

The car door was opened for him and he stepped inside, sitting gingerly in the rear-passenger's side seat. His father was already sitting on the opposite side by the time he had gotten situated. Draco reached for his seatbelt, his movements timid and hesitant, as he wasn't in public anymore. There was no need for superiority when he was alone with his father; Lucius had claimed every ounce there was already. The leather was cold on his back and legs, soaking through the thin, and slightly damp, material of his shirt and pants. Comfort was not needed so much as propriety and show and the leather gave just that. Tinting blacked out the windows on the car, and as Draco looked out, everything seemed to be a dark or light shade of deep midnight blue, as if he were transported to some alternate dimension.

"I trust you are well?" Lucius asked in a voice with no apparent emotion.

"Yes, father," he replied obediently.

"Very well then, I shall see you in my study at 5 o'clock tonight."

Draco swallowed and took a breath, his brow knitted worriedly for a second before turning to Lucius, "Yes, father."

The rest of the ride to the manor was tense. Draco couldn't help but be wound up… he was going to be spending 2 months here, in hell, with the Devil himself. He stared blankly out the window at the passing trees in the forest. Squirrels became acrobats and flung themselves from one branch to another. A couple of sparrows flitted about like teasingly playful lovers. Soon, the trees just stopped. They were replaced by carefully sculpted topiaries towering above the perfect stretch of lawn on either side of the long cobblestone driveway. Forest-green spheres and cones of pine graced the oversized and ornately decorated pottery. His stomach began to churn; the acids splashing again his insides like breakers hitting jutted rocks in the sea. Driving down the twisted way didn't take long, and too soon for Draco's liking, the silent ride came to an end as the car pulled up to the front door.

Malfoy Manor: a magnificent white façade in front of one of the most elegant places in all of England. Hundreds of rooms, several house-elves for each one, lush gardens, secluded courtyards, roaring fireplaces, an elegant ballroom, sundry tapestries, an enormous library holding thousands of books, a dank and threatening dungeon equipped with every torture device that humanity's sick, perverted mind had thought of. All of this on grounds nearly the size of Hogwarts'. However huge, vast, mysterious, scary, and cold it was… it was home.

Draco stepped out of the car and through the ominous front doors, planning on heading straight for his room. He wound through countless corridors and halls, places he knew like the back of his hand. Familiar memories flashed in his mind as he passed certain places or sculptures. As much as Lucius may have hated it, the manor was a lot like Hogwarts. There were sculptures arranged neatly in niches, beautiful paintings of ancestors adorned the walls, secret passageways were scattered about and hidden by strategically placed tapestries.

Making his way up a hidden spiraling stairwell, Draco came to his room. The door was made of a richly colored mahogany and embossed with dragons and snakes, intertwining amongst themselves. He opened the door to find his room the same as always; very green, very elegant, very clean, and devoid of any love, life, or feeling.

His bed was centered against a back wall, the four-posters towering ominously above him. Black velvet drapes curtained the bed, creating privacy for the blonde. The curtains were drawn back, held with golden cords, revealing a perfectly made bed with green sheets. He shirked off his shoes and padded over to his bed, the cotton of his black socks mingling with the bristling of the ornate rug on the floor. He flopped down backwards onto the bed, closing his eyes for a moment.

The satiny duvet was wrinkling under his slim frame and he lifted his arm to check the time. 4:37 P.M. That gave him just enough time to take a shower and choose something more suitable to wear to meet his father. As it were, his clothes right now were slightly soiled at the moment. The loo stall on the train had grown _very_ hot _very_ quickly with the heat of bodies rubbing rhythmically together. A smirk crept across his lips at the thought… her long, raven hair, those icy blue eyes, her full and luscious lips, her perfect tits… that tight pu-…

He broke off in mid-thought, looking at his watch again. 4:40 P.M. "Damn it," he muttered, shrugging off his clothes quickly before walking to the bathroom door. The tiles on the floor stuck to his feet as he walked over to the bath. He turned it on to a lukewarm stream of rivulets pouring from the showerhead. Draco stepped in tentatively, letting the water soak his virile body and drench his hoar-silver locks. Refraining from thinking of his latest escapade on the train, he washed swiftly and thoroughly and was out of the shower by 4:50.

Draco turned off the shower and a wave of coldness washed over his dripping features as he reached out for the towel rack. He padded himself down lightly, feeling the soft, velvety fabric along his skin, much like that girl's skirt he noted in the back of his mind. His smirk returned as he pulled his emerald green robe over his arms and went to his dresser. Choosing something to wear wasn't hard as he knew only dressier attire would do for this annual meeting; the meeting that he had with his father every year, at the beginning of summer, the meeting that put a fine damper on his holiday, the meeting that he dreaded more than anything. Draco found a white, colored shirt and a pair of black trousers with a satiny stripe running down the side. " 'T should be suitable…" he surmised quietly to himself. He combed his hair and dried it the best he could, though it still hung in damp clumps about his head. As Draco looked in the mirror he saw a very prat-like boy staring back at him and ran his slender fingers recklessly through his hair, evoking a self-satisfied smile. He then put on the clothes he had chosen and was on his way to his father's study.

4:59 P.M. He was standing outside the door, staring at the face of his watch, seeing the seconds tick and waste away.

5:00 P.M. He reached for the handle and opened the door quietly, stepping in cautiously as if he were stepping into the bedchambers of a sleeping and rather irritable asp.

Draco saw his father pacing at the opposite end of the room, in front of the roaring fireplace, making the study seem like the very pits of hell. He stood still for a moment, contemplating what to do; a wrong move could result in altogether unpleasant experiences that he had no desire to revisit. He stepped forward hesitantly – testing the waters – and kept going until he was within a few yards of his father. He inhaled softly, "You wished to see me, father?" he asked, his voice reduced to a timid pitch just above a whisper.

"I did Draco," Lucius replied phlegmatically, his voice level and unchanging as always. "Do you know why I called you here?"

"No, father," Draco felt sick; he wanted to be anywhere but here. It was too warm in the study, the fire was over-working itself and it seemed as though he were in a furnace. "Maybe it's just me," he thought bitterly as he stared ahead into the flickering flames of the hearth. Despite the fine patina of sweat that was glazing itself over Draco's forehead, his hands were ice-cold to the touch.

"First, there is the issue of your marks," he paused a moment, for effect. "I see that the Mudblood has once again been passing you for the top marks. In Potions, too. I am very disappointed Draco."

Draco bowed his head, "I try father, I really do. I'm sorry. I will do better this year." He looked at the floor, following the finely weaved patterns of the rug that he had come to know so well. Casting his eyes down was the only correct response he could have made. He was supposed to be brimming with shame at the thought of a Mudblood getting higher marks than he. In reality, he could care less about his _pride_ regarding his placement above or below Granger, but about the _effort_ behind it. Sure, he may have shirked off a little here and there, opting for something more entertaining, but when it came down to it, he worked hard. All the effort that he put into his work was wasted and counted as failure when he didn't receive top honors. His father never seemed to appreciate the fact that he had studied countless nights and weekends to prepare for exams. He read ahead in his books and reread chapters and excerpts. He did extra assignments, though it pained him greatly to be using his time doing that instead of other things. He balanced schoolwork and Quidditch together and had somehow managed to get high marks. Potter hadn't been able to do that. Potter had barely been able to pass, let alone rival Granger. Inwardly Draco rolled his eyes in defeat. He'd never be good enough. He would always be compared to someone that was better than him at some lame and trivial aspect of life… such as grades. Or manners. Or eloquence. Or ability to follow orders obediently and without hesitance. And for his imperfections, he would be punished. Punishment led to results, didn't it? And Merlin knew he'd be punished, he thought bitterly to himself. Though from years of abuse, he had learned it was better to succumb to it than to fight a losing battle.

Lucius said nothing. Instead he walked silently towards his submissive son, cane in hand. He circled Draco like a hawk, his eyes drilling into the soon to be seventh-year. He stopped abruptly in front of Draco, with the posture of a trained soldier. "And then," his voice was sickly sweet. "_Shit_," thought Draco – he knew nothing good would come of it. Lucius' voice was the candied apple that held poison within, frightening yet intriguing all at once. "There is he matter about this reputation that you're building," once again, he paused to let it soak in, "I hear that you have slept with a considerable amount of the girls at your school." Draco flushed. He had.

Girls were just… amazing. Draco had loved every girl he fucked. Sure, he may have used them for the night and let them go in the morning, but he loved them. They were his outlet. Quidditch had arguably rivaled his love of the opposite sex for quite sometime, until it too became something in which he had to please his father. Sex had turned into a vent in which he released everything. Not even his father could touch that. Yes, he had to be careful in his selection of girls, but there were just so many to choose from… He had grown quite handsome during his years at Hogwarts and each year only enhanced his already chiseled, yet beautifully androgynous features. His nose was slim and ended in and elegant point; his complexion was unblemished and pure and smooth as milk; and his lips were thin, yet tantalizing. His hair was ever changing; one day it would be hanging slyly over his eyes, another it would be ruffled and windswept: no more slicking it back with pounds of gel. His body had become virile and toned, his years as a seeker paying off. Despite his slim frame and gorgeous face, his single-most popular features were his eyes. A steely-grey, they bore into one's soul, scanning though, unlocking all hidden secrets. They were mysterious – never letting more than a flicker of emotion through. Girls that found his eyes lingering on themselves were couldn't help but blush and titter about it. It was a privilege to be asked to Draco Malfoy's dorm room; a room of iniquity and untold pleasures. There, they found themselves being loved by one of the most popular boys in the school. And loved they were. In his eyes, Draco saw that anyone wanting to take him away from the world for a couple of hours deserved his love and respect. Anyone wanting to be with him and make him happy… Anyone wanting to give him what he didn't have at home… Anyone willing to treat him like a god.

"There is a fine line between having your way with women and being a whore. You have crossed that line."

Draco was thunderstruck and his head snapped up to look at his father's eyes. All logic and reason he may have held before flew out the window and was skewered by the cold, wrought iron spear-picketed fence surrounding the manor. "I am not a fucking whore," he spat, his confidence momentarily regained.

He was on the ground before he knew what happened. There was a sharp throb in his cheeks, and Draco could feel the blood slowly ebbing from the wound. Draco let a breath go, one he didn't realize he had been holding. He lifted his pale to his cheek slowly, touched it gently, and the warm, ruby liquid coated his fingertips. A flash of dolor crossed his now tender features as he stared ahead at the polished shoes of his father.

Lucius adjusted the cane in his hand and stepped nimbly over to where Draco had fallen. "How dare you speak to me like that," he said quietly, his softened voice somehow creating more fear in Draco's nearly quivering form than if he had yelled.

Draco was still lying on the floor, his face half-pressed against the Oriental rug. He looked up at his father with loathing, silvery eyes, "Well _fuck_ you. I'm not a whore," he said boldly. Somewhere, deep, _deep_, inside of himself, he could feel a little voice screaming, pleading for him to just shut up. He ignored the annoying little voice and paid for it dearly.

The end of the cane came down hard upon his already bleeding cheek. He bit back a cry as his father ground it in further. "You will be mindful of the manner in which you speak to me. Do you understand?" Lucius drove the cane harder onto Draco's cheek.

The fight in Draco had left as quickly as it had come and he was now cursing himself for his pride and temper; wishing he had kept his mouth shut. Stars of pain appeared in front of his eyes, flashing vaguely and blinding him. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep back a scream. "Answer. Answer him. Make it fucking _stop_," he thought to himself desperately. "Yes father, I- I understand completely. I'm sorry, my temper got the better of me," he croaked, fighting to keep back a moan of pain.

"Well, you will be sorry, Draco. As of now, I am forbidding you to _fuck_ whomever you so please. I will not have my son and heir be a _whore_. If you disobey me, there will be grave consequences, indeed. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Draco whispered – he was terrified that his voice was going to crack and give out on him.

"Good. Now go get cleaned up and ready for dinner," and with that curt reply, Lucius walked out of the study, his head held high.

Draco still lay there on the rug, staring after his father – a defeated look upon his face.

A/N: Mmmkay! So that's it! What'd you guys all think? I promise there's darker stuff in the next few chapters… just review and tell me what you think. I don't care if they're flames (well… actually, yes, I do… so try to refrain from that, please), but just review. It really, really, _really_ hurt when someone reviewed for my story, _Fallen Paradise_, and they didn't even mention it. And it just so happened that they were the ONLY one to review for that. That hurt. But, on the other-hand… I'm so thankful that you reviewed my story Tori. That was nice… but a tad odd that you didn't comment on the story that you were reviewing for… But nice nonetheless, so thanks! - Just guys, _try _to actually talk about the story you're reviewing for… and if you're feeling extra generous, _try_ to head on over to my bio and click on _Fallen Paradise_ and read it and review it. I would be amazingly grateful and thankful and all that jazz. So yeah, I'll stop rambling… I love you guys. Mwah!

Peace, love, and cheers!  
Tati aka Elf Girl 4

PS: Love ya Orlando and Johnny!! -


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